


Eulogy for a Red Ferrari

by orangeangora



Category: Ferris Bueller's Day Off (1986)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Teenage Drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:07:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28601190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangeangora/pseuds/orangeangora
Summary: What actually happened to Cameron once his friends said goodbye that day.
Relationships: Ferris Bueller & Cameron Frye & Sloane Peterson





	1. Prologue

4:36 p.m., Thursday, May 14

"This is the Shermer, Illinois Police Department. Please state your emergency."

"Oh. Well. Well, it's not exactly an emergency. You see..."

"Ma'am, you need to hang up and dial 911....."

"No, wait, wait it is. I was napping just a few minutes ago when I heard this God-awful crashing noise. Woke me right up, I can tell you. At first I thought there had been an earthquake. Or some kind of accident right outside....."

"Ma'am, can you tell me where are you calling from?"

"Over on Spruce Street. Then my neighbor came by and said there'd been some sort of accident down the street at our neighbors, the Fryes. Very nice family, though the son is a bit peculiar..."

"You're currently on Spruce Street, okay. Now tell me what happened."

"The Fryes' car apparently just rolled out of the garage window and now the whole window's shattered! And the car looks pretty smashed, too. Well, one of their cars. The father has about a million. My neighbor says it's their Ferrari."

"All right, then, I'll have someone down to check this out when we can. Goodbye."

The dispatcher hung up and heaved a mighty sigh. They'd been getting bizarre calls all day, including several about a potential prowler at the Bueller's house. Then they'd actually had the Bueller daughter down at the station for some kind of teenage high jinx for which her mother assured them there would be strict consequences. Now this - about a car flying out of a garage. Of course, these things were preferable to actual crime. But still, some days, it didn't pay to get out of bed.

:


	2. Chapter One

Some days, it doesn't pay to get out of bed. Most days actually. But especially today.

I close my eyes, but I can still see the glass shattered everywhere in the ravine, my father's pride and joy: his Ferrari that he has only driven once to my knowledge, totally smashed beyond repair, beyond redemption. The remains now coated in dirt, leaves and animal crap. Maybe some enterprising squirrel will move in and use it as a house to store nuts for the winter, so it will still be of some use to something.

If you think the worst has already happened, in my case, when the miles accumulated on the car while we played hooky and went into Chicago for a day trip could not, in fact, be erased by my friend, Ferris's, method, it probably hasn't. Not by a long shot. If that had been all that was wrong with the car, my father would still flip out, but since the car is technically, an ex-car, I have no idea what's going to happen.

When I was ten, Ferris and I and this kid named Jimmy, who moved to Texas in seventh grade after his dad got transferred, decided to build a treehouse in the woods behind my house. Even though none of us had a clue what we were doing, we managed to nail together a bunch of boards several feet off the ground that stayed up, which, at the time, seemed like an amazing achievement. We even toyed with the idea of starting a secret club. We started goofing around and cracking jokes on the makeshift platform, until I managed to take a step back - squarely on my retainer, which I'd stashed in its case. I remember opening the dented thing and staring at the mangled object for a long while.

"Maybe you could tape it back together," Jimmy suggested, but we all three knew that wouldn't work.

"Maybe you can get your mom to replace it before your dad finds out," Ferris said, a far more practical suggestion, but that wasn't going to happen either. My father grounded me for a month after a long lecture about not understanding the value of a dollar. My dad grew up poor. He's a self-made man, and when I was younger, it didn't take much for him to start lecturing me on the value of a dollar.

Since I can't tape the Ferrari back together or find a replacement in the window of time before Morris gets home, I figure that I'm toast.

I consider following in my old man's example by having a drink to take the edge off and maybe chase it down with some kind of little helper. It's tempting, but I decide not to. If I'm going to follow through on what I claimed to Ferris and Sloane and actually take a stand, I've got to be clear-headed.

Then I see something that makes my heart stop. A police cruiser pulling into our driveway with an officer getting out and marching up to the front door where he smartly thumps the door knocker.

"Yes?" I say, swinging it open, as if I'm completely clueless as to why they're here. "Can I help you?" Maybe it's not the car, I think. Maybe I'm in trouble for impersonating Sloane's dad earlier today and telling Principal Rooney that he's an a-hole. Maybe there's some kind of law against doing that. Or at least a suspension if Rooney has put two and two together. Probably he heard Ferris in the background, and...

"Son, we received a call about something suspicious." Nothing in the cop's voice suggests that he suspects me of anything. Maybe he's faking, though, so I incriminate myself. "A neighbor reported that one of your father's cars apparently rolled out the garage window. She heard the commotion and notified us." Then he laughs. "We get all kinds of weird calls, but it's my job to investigate, so..." Clearly, he thinks the caller is delusional.

"Oh, actually, that was an accident. I was showing my friends the car, and we were horsing around, and I managed to dislodge it, and before I could grab it, well...you know the rest. It's wrecked. I know that sounds crazy, but it's true." Saying that actually feels great, and I don't even mind that the cop is looking at me like I've got two heads.

"Are you sure about this?" he says. "That seems kind of hard to believe. The car just up and goes out the window? You pushed it hard enough for that to happen?"

"Yes, sir." I give him a kids-do-the-darndest-things look. "Pretty stupid. I'm going to tell my father when he comes home, of course." Does the officer suspect I've done even more today? "It's ironic because I've been sick all today and wasn't even planning on going out."

"Well. Well, I'm sorry to hear that. I guess it looks like..."

And then a Mercedes pulls into the driveway. 

Morris Frye is home. And he hasn't even had his martini yet.

The cop actually looks a little embarrassed, like maybe he didn't want to get involved in this. But at least my father can't commit homicide in front of an officer of the law. 

Before I can lose my nerve, I repeat my confession. My father stares at me, then rushes around back to examine the remains of the Ferrari. Silently, the cop and I trail him. For a minute which stretches out to an eternity, he gazes at the remains, then lets out a long noise that sounds like a wounded animal.

"Yeah, I'm sorry," I add. There isn't anything else left to say, so I don't say it.

I wait for him to tell the cop to slap on the handcuffs and haul me away, but he doesn't. The cop clears his throat and tells us that he'll be going. Silently, we wait for him to get into his car and pull out.

"But actually, in a way, I'm not sorry," I add, taking a deep breath. "Because this gives me the perfect chance to say something to you that I've wanted to say for a long time." And for once, I don't stop. 

Finally, he clears his throat. "I heard that your friend, Ferris, is on death's door apparently and your class is collecting to buy him a new kidney. From several sources."

It's the last thing I expect, but I manage to reply. 

"No, that's just a wild rumor. Ferris has been home sick all day, but he should be fine and back in school tomorrow."

"I see. Well, I should have known better than to believe such a silly story. He doesn't have anything to do with this then, I take it?"

"No. I haven't even seen him all day." I wait for some revelation that he's heard me, but he just keeps shaking his head and sighing. "I need a drink," he says to himself, not me and then starts walking rapidly away.

"Wait, Dad? How are you going to punish me?"

That makes him stop. "Frankly, I haven't the faintest idea. You're about to head off to college in a few months, so grounding you wouldn't do much. Why don't we talk about this some other time?"

Well, that was unexpected to say the least.

Later I get a call from Ferris who wants to make sure I'm still alive. By then, Morris has handed down the verdict which is that I will work over the summer to reimburse him for part of the damage. Ferris offers one more time to take some of the heat, but I refuse again. And thank him for the best day of my life, hands-down.

Even with the demise of my father's Ferrari. 

Ferris said he'd been doing some thinking and decided that he wasn't going to risk playing hooky, at least not until college. But by then, I don't think it matters. No one stands over you and forces to act like an adult. You just have to do it on your own.

Oh, and about the other stuff I finally said to my father? Well, lately, he's been pretty quiet around me. Also he's been spending more time at the office, but at least I'm not grounded and not going to miss any of my senior year festivities. 

So I guess I shouldn't expect miracles, but that's okay. I'll just have to wait and see.


	3. Epilogue

5:21 p.m. Chicago bar

"Hey, Marco, how's it going? The usual?"

"Sure. Oh man, you're not gonna believe this. So I was in the garage this morning when these three lily white kids from the 'burbs pull up in a Ferrari. The driver gets out and is all, "Do you speak English?" and I'm like, "What country do you think this is?" So then he pulls out his wallet and hands me a wad and tells me to take good care of the Ferrari for the day, and his friend, the other guy is looking like he's going to shit a brick, and the girl is all, "Chill out, nothing's going to happen. Then they take off without the car and don't come back until about three-thirty. After that big parade, where I heard some nutty kid hijacked a float and sang a Beatles' song. Anyway, guess they had to get back before Mommy and Daddy came home and caught them skipping school."

"So did they...notice anything unusual?""

"Nah. Not a thing."

They laugh loudly.

"Best day ever!"


End file.
